The One in Which Derek is a Big, Bad Wolf
by DrarryHarmon
Summary: Derek and Stiles share a room, and honestly, whose brilliant idea was that?


"... I'm going to rip your throat out. With my teeth."

Derek startled (though he would deny it if ever questioned) slightly at the resounding knock on the closed, and locked, bathroom door.

 _"Not that I don't realize that you need your time staring at yourself in the mirror and reminding yourself just how big and bad you are,_ " Stiles drawled, _"but some of us actually have to get ready. But don't press yourself,"_ he added as an afterthought, and Derek almost growled at the amusement he heard in that remark. Almost.

He pretended his cheeks weren't flushing, and that he most certainly was not embarrassed - how preposterous - and pulled his lips back into a snarl before wrenching open the door. Because obviously he was just red because he was angry. Obviously.

"Shut up, moron," he (this time) growled, baring his teeth. He _had_ to remain threatening, after all. Stiles most certainly could not think that he was getting to him. The idea was ridiculous.

Stiles smirked - and, oh, what Derek wouldn't give to wipe it off - before sauntering into the vacated bathroom, bowing in exaggeration. "You're too kind, Your Highness."

Derek took an abrupt step towards the irritating boy, donning a smirk of his own when he retreated fully into the bathroom rather quickly, shutting, and locking, the door.

Stiles and he were forced to share a motel room when the threat on Beacon Hills grew too big to ignore, and the pack had to move somewhere safe to develop a plan - and hopefully protect anyone else they might have been close to by getting them out of the crossfire - but Derek knew he was about to snap.

Stiles was aggravating him to no end, no doubt on purpose. And whoever's brilliant idea it was that suggested the two room together, well, maybe he would _actually_ make good on his threat and rip someone's throat out.

That was how close he was to losing it.

Stiles took every chance he got to take jabs at him - because, of course, Derek was quite obviously the victim here, and would never amount to doing the same thing (duh) - and it was any wonder the idiot still had his teeth.

Maybe it was because he would look substantially less appealing without them - not that Derek would ever admit _that_ \- and because he figured Scott would be pretty angry with him if he did that.

Not that he cared, _of course_.

Resolved to his fate, Derek carried on as best he could - which turned out to be not very good - while suffering in silence when getting essentially no where after a few days had passed.

Derek was sat on his bed one inconsequential Thursday night, staring out of a pathetically small window their crappy - and at the moment Stiles-free - room had come with.

One might think - and quite appropriately so, too - that this would leave Derek relieved and ecstatic - Derek thought so, too - but he was rather put out to find he was not at all relieved, and more anxious than anything.

Stiles had always fallen asleep before him - if he fell asleep at all - and him not even being here was very disconcerting.

Although Derek was definitely not worried; not a bit. He barely cared. _Really_.

So there was really no need to get upset, jumping to his feet and growling dangerously if the door happened to finally quietly open at just past midnight, because Derek would have obviously already been blissfully asleep.

Except, of course, he wasn't.

And that's exactly what happened.

"Where there _hell_ have you been?" Derek demanded, eyes glowing dangerously in the moonlight shining in from the pathetically small window. And honestly, Derek had every right to be upset. After all, Derek would've heard Stiles coming in, regardless of whether he was sleeping or not, and Stiles apparently didn't give a shit if he got a good night's rest or not! Because, obviously.

Stiles took a step back in surprise, hands reaching up in the air in surrender. "Sorry?" He said it as if it was a question, not a sincere apology - and, honestly, the nerve!

"Sorry? You're _sorry_?!" Derek reached out a hand, which rather shockingly didn't have claws, and grabbed the collar of the boy's shirt, shoving him up against the closed, and now locked, door. "I have been sitting here, waiting for hours for you to -!"

Stiles' expression wrestled from confusion to amusement, much to Derek's irritation. "Waiting for me to what?" he asked softly, trying desperately to hold back a grin that was fighting to take over his face. He had a feeling Derek wouldn't take kindly to it.

"For you to -! Well, for you..." Derek looked more and more desperate by the minute, trying to come up with an excuse. Because, really, why was he so upset?

"Derek..." Stiles began gently, staring the sour wolf straight in the eye. "Were you... Were you worried about me?" Stiles' heart fluttered oddly in his chest at the thought.

Derek almost immediately dropped Stiles' collar, taking a giant step back in bewilderment. "What? _No_!" Derek denied harshly. "Don't be ridiculous. Why would I be worried about _you_?"

Stiles tried not to show how hurt he was by the admission, dropping his eyes to the ugly carpeted floor of their incredibly crappy motel room. The thought wasn't so appealing now as it had been a few moments ago. "Yeah, ridiculous. Of course you aren't." Stiles pushed past the older man, grabbing his pajama pants to head into the bathroom.

Derek tried to ignore the hurt coming off the younger boy in waves, tried not to care what the look did to his chest. It was decidedly a lot harder than it might have seemed, because suddenly Derek was grabbing a skinny wrist and pulling with almost no effort at all. Stiles stumbled and Derek caught him because - who the fuck even cared anymore?

Derek swallowed and stared into big eyes that stared up at him in shock. The question of 'What are you doing?' went without saying. "I guess I... maybe was _a little_ bit worried about you," Derek grumbled awkwardly.

He was pleasantly surprised with the smile he received in return that might have made him a bit weak in the knees - but he would never admit, honestly, this should go without saying at this point - and he might've collapsed like a big idiot if he wasn't Derek Hale.

"I might've been a little bit worried about you all those nights, too," Stiles admitted, his smile growing when Derek's strong arms wrapped around him.

"Yeah, sure," he agreed sarcastically, but he was grinning. "I could definitely tell over your obnoxious inhales and exhales."

"I do not snore!" Stiles denied determinedly, his smile only growing larger.

"Whatever you say."

They fell silent, and for a moment, Derek's nerves came back. He pushed them aside roughly - because he was Derek Hale, dammit! - and smashed his lips to Stiles' before he could change his mind.

But perhaps he should've put more thought into it, after all.

"Ow," Stiles mumbled, briefly pulling back. "Haven't you ever done this before? You're not actually supposed to make my lips punching bags," his voice was filled with amusement.

Derek swore he turned a bright red, but assured himself Stiles couldn't tell in the dark. "Shut up, Stiles, or I'll make you shut up."

Stiles decided the threat rather _un_ threatening and grinned. "I'd like to see you try."

Derek finally came threw with one of his 'threats' and brought his lips to Stiles' once more, except this time a bit more gently.

And if he nibbled his lips a little harder than was strictly necessary because Stiles was an ass, well... who could really blame him?


End file.
